Darling Bud Of Mey

‘LIKE an empty bottle of gin, the country seems a hollow place without its spiritual mother.

Gone to the big gin palace in the sky

Ever since the Queen Mother passed away in her sleep at the age of 198, we’ve been rolling around like a lost ice cube in a tumbler of misery and drizzle.

At least Hello! knows what’s what, and has filled the chasm in our hearts, and the space between an advert for holidays in Egypt and pictures of Penelope Cruz in a dress, with an insight into how things used to be.

It’s as if the dear old gal had only popped out for a short trip to the off-licence as we peer around the inside of the Castle Of Mey, the Highland retreat she called ”Heaven on Earth”.

Now that she’s in Heaven for real, we the common folk have been permitted inside the grounds and even within the front door with no fear of a bite from a guard dog or a cannon ball in the head.

Words cannot do the place justice, imbued as it is with the essence of the Queen Mother. So instead let us look to a poem, written in regal hand in her visitors’ book.

”Although we must leave you/Fair Castle of Mey/We shall never forget/Nor could ever…” Stand the place? ”…repay.”

It goes on: ”A meal of such splendour/Repast of such zest/It will take us to Sunday/Just to…” Pick it from our wooden teeth? ”…digest.”

More: ”To leafy Balmoral/We are now on our way/But our hearts will remain at the Castle of Mey/With your gardens and ranger/ and all your good cheer/We will be back again soon/So roll on…” The barrel? ”…next year.”

Who would have guessed the Queen had a beautiful way with words? Well, not anyone who’s read that bilge.

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Posted: 21st, May 2003 | In: Reviews Comment | TrackBack | Permalink